Episode 14, VS7.5 - Links: Letters II
by Voyager Season 7.5
Summary: Letters from home are precious--usually.


Episode 14  
Links: Letters II  
  
Compiled and Edited by: CyberMum  
Written by the Voyager Season 7.5 Writing Staff  
  
Stardate: 54685.9  
"So, Harry?" Tom Paris turned and grinned at his friend as they made their way   
towards the mess hall. Their shift had finished five minutes earlier, and   
B'Elanna had promised to meet them there as soon as she was able to leave   
engineering.  
"What?" Harry Kim feigned innocence. He knew exactly what Tom was asking, but he   
was going to give his friend the satisfaction of a quick or easy response.  
"Come on, Harry. You know what."  
"I do? Oh yes -- you want to know if I reprogrammed the Captain Proton   
simulation so that B'Elanna can play the part of Saber Tooth Sal instead of your   
trusty secretary Constance Goodheart. I think she'll be much happier now that   
she'll be saving your butt rather than handing you your pistol and telling you   
to be careful."  
"Come on Harry..."  
"Oh. Yeah. I fixed your Olympics simulation too. You really had some of those   
measurements wrong. Even a Nausicaan couldn't have managed your long jump. And   
you would have needed two Orcans to cover the water polo net."  
"Har..."  
"And I had coffee with Marla last night. We had a nice time. She's very nice."  
"And...?"  
"And that's all I'm going to say, Tom. Hi B'Elanna." Harry greeted his friend   
with a smile. "How was your shift?"  
"Not too bad actually. I managed to figure out where the short in the coil   
scanner was and reroute the field coils around it without compromising the   
magnetic seals.  
The three of them threaded their way through the mess hall and found a table   
towards the back.  
"Mr. Kim!" Neelix bustled his way over just as they had settled themselves into   
their seats. "Lieutenants Paris." Torres raised an eyebrow at the Talaxian's   
greeting, but decided to ignore it.  
"Hi Neelix, what's for lunch?" Harry asked quickly.  
"Mr. Kim the newest datastream transmissions are starting to come in. Megan   
Delaney just hailed me. We've got to go pick them up."  
"Isn't it a bit early?" Tom asked.  
"No, it isn't Tom." B'Elanna replied. "I think we've had such a lot going on   
recently that the time slipped away faster than we realized. They're on time."  
Harry stood up. "I'll see you later guys -- maybe I'll have something for you.   
Let's go Neelix."  
But Neelix was already on his way out of the mess hall.  
*  
They arrived in Astrometrics together.  
"We're here Megan, what have you got for us this month?" Neelix' enthusiasm was   
evident. Both he and Harry relished this particular duty. Delivering the letters   
from home to Voyager's crew had fallen under their jurisdiction over the past   
year. Neelix' participation in this activity was natural -- after all, he was   
the ship's morale officer, and what could be more of a morale boost than   
communication from friends and family in the Alpha Quadrant. As for Harry, he   
wasn't quite sure how his involvement in the monthly ritual had evolved, but   
there was no way he would ever give the job up at this point.  
"I'm still decrypting." Megan's fingers flew over her console. "The stream seems   
to be fluctuating at an increasing variance. I'm going to have to compensate."  
Harry and Neelix watched as the young woman carefully adjusted her calculations   
to account for the inconsistencies in the carrier wave. She paused, took a PADD   
from a tall pile of them by her side, inserted it into a slot in her console and   
activated the download procedure.  
"Here's the first one." Megan withdrew the PADD from the slot and examined it   
quickly. "It's for you sir." She said, and handed it to Harry.  
Harry looked at it in surprise. "It's from my Mom. I'll... um...I'll read it   
later." He slipped the PADD into one of the pouches that he and Neelix had   
picked on their way to Astrometrics and slung the pouch over his shoulder. His   
mailbag, Tom called it.  
Megan inserted a second PADD into the console and began the download procedure   
again. There was a moment of silence.  
"I'm afraid there has been an interruption in the datastream. I believe the   
interference and the fluctuations are being caused..." She turned and pointed to   
the large display screen that took up one entire side of the Astrometrics lab   
"By that gaseous nebula. It seems to be emitting electrical charges that disrupt   
the smooth flow of data. I believe we will be clear of the nebula..." Megan   
turned again, this time to a smaller display screen on the wall behind him "In   
about fourteen minutes."  
Neelix looked at Harry and grinned. "Go ahead Lieutenant," He said. "Read your   
letter. There's no reason not to, especially since we're now waiting!"  
Harry reached into the pouch that he had slung over his shoulder and fingered   
the PADD that he had dropped into it a few moments earlier. "I... okay." He   
said. "Why not."  
*  
  
To: Harry Kim, Lieutenant/USS Voyager  
Via: Project Pathfinder   
From: Mrs. John Kim/Section 001/Earth/San Francisco   
Stardate: 54645.2  
Harry Dear,  
Or should I address you as Lieutenant? It has such a nice ring to it, doesn't   
it? Lieutenant Harry Kim. Your father and I are so proud of you, Harry. We   
know how hard you work on Voyager, and how important your work is. I'm glad   
that your captain has recognized and rewarded you for your contributions. Do   
you know she wrote us a letter of congratulations on your promotion? She   
mentioned that you have been on several away missions recently and have   
performed 'admirably'. She sounds like such a nice woman.  
Last night your Father and I listened again to the recording you sent of your   
latest musical composition. It is very good son. A bit slow in places,   
perhaps, but very enjoyable nonetheless. I have made a copy of it and sent it   
to Professor Traibut at Julliard. He asked after you at the last meeting of   
the Alumni Association and I told him you were still playing your clarinet. He   
was pleased to hear it, and sent his regards to you. Did you know that he is   
now conducting the Youth Symphony? Perhaps he can use your piece in a concert.   
You never know...  
We are all fine here. Last weekend we had a surprise visit from your Aunties   
Pearl and Opal. Do you remember them Harry? Your Grandmother Kim's twin baby   
sisters? They are eighty-three years old and still dress alike. Apparently   
they have been traveling quite frequently recently -- revisiting their   
childhood homes, and staying with relatives along the way. They didn't give us   
much warning -- called on Thursday, arrived on Saturday morning. Luckily your   
Auntie Soni had warned me they were coming and I was able to prepare an   
appropriate dinner for them. They are sticklers for the old ways.  
Your cousin Mila has been accepted into Star Fleet Academy. As you can   
imagine, your Aunt and Uncle are extremely proud of her -- just as we were of   
you when you received your acceptance. Mila has been here several times   
recently, asking about you and your experiences at the Academy. I showed her a   
copy of the article you wrote for the school newspaper -- the one about the   
Maquis. I had it laminated several years ago and hung it over the desk in your   
room. I didn't think you'd mind. Just think -- you were so worried about the   
Maquis problem then, and now you are working with some of them.  
In your last letter you mentioned someone named Marla. I haven't heard this   
name before. Do you work with her? Where is she from? Is she married or   
attached in some way? I ask these questions so that I can know more about what   
you do, how you live and spend your time on Voyager.  
How are your friends Tom and B'Elanna? She must be nearing her time. Wish her   
luck from me. I look forward to meeting them and all your Voyager friends when   
you arrive home. This Pathfinder Project has raised our hopes enormously,   
Harry, and we feel in our hearts that we will see you soon.  
I must close now as your Auntie Liisa and I have a date with your cousin Tanya   
for tea at the Green Dragon Café. We have to decide who is going to host this   
year's New Year's celebration. It's actually your Auntie's turn, but with   
Uncle Phil away on an extended deep space mission, and Auntie Clare being out   
of sorts, it might just fall to me. I don't know how I'm going to tell your   
father... well, never mind Harry, I'll just work it out myself.  
My love to you son. Be well, and be very careful on those away missions.  
Mom  
*  
"They're coming through now, Lieutenant." Megan re-inserted the blank PADD into   
the slot in her console, waited for a moment and removed it with a slight   
flourish. "Here's the next one."  
Harry hastily shoved his own letter into the bottom of his mail pouch and took   
the proffered PADD. He read the heading and then handed it to Neelix. "This   
one's for Tuvok. He's on your route, isn't he?"  
"He is indeed." Neelix replied. "He's at the top of my list. Is your mother   
well, Harry?"  
"She's just fine, Neelix. She's just the same as she's always been. Just the   
same." Harry repeated, and couldn't quite suppress a sigh. "But I miss her   
anyhow."  
"And here's the next one...." Megan Delaney reclaimed their attention as the   
rest of the letters began to arrive via the data stream.  
^*^*^*^*  
Tuvok studied the delicate bloom carefully. The pale violet orchid had been   
grafted onto the new rootstock only a day earlier. Although it was still too   
early to say definitively, he decided it was showing signs of adapting and   
should soon be thriving in its new environment. He slowly added the nutrient   
solution to the soil and worked it in, taking care not to unduly disturb the   
fragile rhizomes.  
The door signal sounded. "Enter," he said, and crossed over to the sink to wash   
his hands. In the reflective wall surface he noted his visitor. "Yes, Mr.   
Neelix, what may I do for you?"  
"Mail call," the Talaxian said cheerfully. He waited until Tuvok had finished   
drying his hands before holding out the PADD. "I believe it's from your wife   
T'Pel."  
"Indeed it is," Tuvok said, quickly perusing the first few lines. Although he   
did not lack for patience and did not feel the need to immediately read his   
letter, he knew from experience that the simple act of delivering mail and   
watching the reactions of the recipients netted Neelix as much satisfaction, if   
not more so, as the recipients of the  
letters themselves. And despite the fact that he would never openly admit to   
doing so, Tuvok made sure each month that he permitted Neelix this singular   
pleasure.  
"How is she? Family all well?" asked Neelix.  
"So it appears from her opening statements. She sends her regards."  
"Really?" If Neelix had been smiling before, now he was positively beaming. He   
quickly recollected himself. "Well, I have a number of other deliveries to make.   
Enjoy your letter from 'Mrs. Vulcan.'"  
"I shall certainly endeavor to do so," Tuvok responded and tried not to think   
how his wife would react to her new title. Then again, perhaps she would   
consider it eminently logical.  
Alone once more, he settled back with a cup of steaming spice tea, picked up the   
PADD and began to read.  
*  
  
From: T'Pel cha'Selev   
Sector 001; Vulcan; ShiKahr   
To: Lieutenant Commander Tuvok,   
Chief of Security, U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656   
Pathfinder Project   
Stardate: 54649.8  
Greetings, my husband,  
I trust that this missive finds you in good health and that you are completely   
recovered from the injuries you received during your recent battle with the   
Borg Collective. Yes, I do find it curious, as you remarked, that Mr. Neelix   
showed up at the torpedo launch bay, particularly as he had no way of knowing   
in advance that you did indeed require his assistance. A fortuitous   
coincidence, perhaps, but I think you are too quick to dismiss another   
possible explanation of the events. Having never studied with the masters of   
the temple of Amonak, perhaps my knowledge of these matters is less than   
yours. However, it occurs to me that the link between the two of you, from the   
time you were combined into the single entity Tuvix, has been maintained.   
Perhaps it is only noticeable during extreme circumstances. Regardless of the   
reason, I am grateful that he was present and able to convey you to safety. As   
the Humans are fond of saying, please express to him my regards.  
Our family members are all well. As you doubtless expected, our granddaughter   
T'Meni's kahs-wan was successfully completed. The Examiner agreed that she   
showed remarkable foresight and endurance in one so young. The child has   
always been slender and looked far younger than her years, but it did not have   
an averse effect upon her either from a physical or mental standpoint.  
Sapock, the son of Skon, your friend Stelen's eldest, is of the same age as   
T'Meni and completed the ordeal at the same time. I suppose it may have been   
chance, or the long-standing amitas between our two families, but Stelen has   
inquired informally as to the possibility of a bonding between our   
grandchildren. They are of the proper age to consider a betrothal; I have   
always felt the old custom of bonding shortly after the kahs-wan is preferable   
to waiting until the children have reached the Time of pon farr. There are   
enough issues to deal with then; far better for them to learn about the bond   
when it can be contemplated rationally. It also removes some of the   
uncertainty of one's Time to already be familiar with one's bondmate.  
I suspect that T'Meni has already given thought to the next stage of a young   
Vulcan girl's life and this will not come to her as a completely unexpected   
development. The two children are well acquainted with each other; I am not   
incorrect in assuming that T'Meni herself has written to you about Sapock, as   
they have 'crossed lirpas' on numerous occasions.  
I can see your eyebrow rise from here, my husband, and sense your question:   
but if the child appears to dislike the boy, surely another would be more   
suitable. Indeed, Sek asked the same thing, which leads me to wonder how well   
he knows or understands his own daughter. The very fact that T'Meni treats   
Sapock almost as if he were beneath her notice makes me suspect that she   
thinks of him a good deal and not always disparagingly. Asil was present   
during one of T'Meni's most recent visits and commented to me afterwards that   
she found too many references to the boy during the course of the conversation   
for there to be simply a casual interest on T'Meni's part. Our daughter is an   
astute judge of character, as you yourself have frequently noted in the past.  
Therefore, if you do not have any objections, I will inform Stelen that we   
look favorably on this new tie between our families. As to when the bonding   
ceremony should be held--rumors abound that Voyager's return will be much   
sooner than previously looked-for. In fact, we have been told informally by   
one of the Pathfinder scientists that there is a possibility that the ship may   
return within the next few months. You are in a better position to know if   
this is founded in fact or merely a product of wishful thinking. It would be   
most gratifying for your return to be early, and T'Meni would be most   
appreciative if her grandfather could be present at her bonding ceremony. I   
will hold off in making any further plans until I have your answer, or more   
information becomes available on this end.  
Live long and prosper.  
Your wife,  
T'Pel  
A postscript. Shortly before this letter was to be sent off, an unfortunate   
event has transpired. Your father Sunak passed away, not before his time. He   
was not ill with a specific malady, but had been slowly 'fading' for some   
time. Your mother stated that he had consulted several Healers during the past   
six months and each one said there was nothing to be done. I grieve with thee,   
Tuvok, and your mother T'Meni as well. Sunak was in good spirits at the end.   
Our sons and I were present at his bedside, and he told me he felt he had   
accomplished what he wished in this life. His only regret was being unable to   
see you again. His katra has already been released into the Hall of Adepts.   
Tomorrow morning, at sunrise, we will take his ashes to the Forge and scatter   
them on the plains of Gol as per his final wishes.  
*  
Tuvok closed his eyes. He thought of the gentle presence that was his father,   
and found some measure of comfort that his end was so peaceful. *Not before his   
time.* He turned back to the section of T'Pel's letter that dealt with his   
granddaughter's betrothal. It was time to concentrate on the next generation,   
the new links being forged in the chain.  
  
*^*^*^*^  
  
To: Janeway, Kathryn M., Capt./C.O./USS Voyager   
Via: Project Pathfinder   
From: Thev, Daeja, Cmdr./JAG/StftAcdy/Section 001/Earth/San Francisco   
Stardate: 54652.3  
*Narejah*, Kathryn!  
What a surprise your letter was! Of course, I already knew that you are alive   
after all - simply on the other side of the galaxy - but knowing the   
limitations on communications, I was astonished that you would use precious   
data space for a letter to your old roommate, especially considering our last   
conversation. I'm only sorry it has taken so long for me to reply, but as you   
can tell from the heading, I'm no longer on Andor and your letter caught up   
with me only last week.  
Ah, our last conversation. I told you that you could take my pips and shove   
them "where the moon don't shine." (Great Hunter, but I love Human idiom - so   
much more vivid than our rather direct Andorian phrases.) Well, I did resign   
and go home to teach for a while but the Dominion War changed that. I couldn't   
sit at home when the Federation was under attack. Nothing we Andorians love   
more than a good fight, and the Jem H'dar were good fighters. The uniform fit   
better the second time, and I'm still here. So, I'm at the Academy now - in   
the History Department, although this semester I also got stuck (another   
lovely idiom) with Introduction to Political Science for the plebes.  
I can hear you laughing now. Political Science! I haven't forgotten what you   
said when we were raw cadets and you found out you had to take that course.   
"How dare they call politics a science? It's all a game." You were right, you   
know. Politics is a game, but just like tennis and velocity, there is a real   
science behind it. You have to know the rules and the strategies to succeed.   
As I recall, you eventually earned a top grade in that class. Hope you don't   
need a refresher from me!  
You and your crew are quite the topic around HQ these days. Actually, I gather   
you have been for years. They tell me that when you first disappeared so   
mysteriously, speculation was rampant. There were those who wrote you off for   
dead, and those who thought you'd been hijacked and abducted by the   
Cardassians or the Romulans. There were even those who contended that you'd   
been recruited by the Maquis. Most of these were people who claimed to know   
you, although I do not think you would call them friend.  
As time passed, the talk faded; the fighting with the Klingons and then the   
Dominion began, and everyone's attention shifted. Shifted. There's a revealing   
choice of words. Fighting shape-shifters is as much a matter of psychological   
warfare as it is physical combat. It erodes trust and creates paranoia.   
Shapeshifters infiltrated the Klingon High Council and the Admiralty, did you   
know that? A lot of civil liberties were suspended in the name of Federation   
security; blood tests to prove identity became routine, travel was restricted   
and even confidential mail was routinely screened by Intelligence. The war is   
over and they assure us that things have more or less returned to normal,   
except that the mindset of suspicion and power are hard to shake. It seems our   
ability to trust the way we did before has been forever compromised. There are   
persistent rumors that surveillance continues.  
I can hear you again. What did *you* think, Dae - I can hear you plainly. Were   
you one of those who thought I was dead, or did you think I'd joined the   
Maquis? Then you give that snort you reserve for topics that are too   
ridiculous even for laughter. But stop and think. The idea that you might be   
willing to join the Maquis was not entirely far-fetched. After all, your   
distrust of the Cardassians was well known and you made it clear that your   
support for the Treaty was limited to the dictates of duty and no more. HQ is   
filled with people willing to see a conspiracy around every corner. I knew   
better. Oh, you might have decided to join the Maquis cause, but you would   
never have deserted to do so. You would have formally resigned your commission   
first - Starfleet is bred in you too finely for anything else. So, even though   
it would have been comforting to think of you alive and raiding Cardassian   
supply depots, I was among those who believed you dead, because I could not   
imagine an enemy taking you without a fight. And I admit to you, that I was   
never happier to be proven wrong about something than when word came of   
Voyager's adventure in the Delta quadrant. Word around HQ now is that you've   
granted field commissions to all your Maquis crew and that you're pushing for   
confirmation of their rank. You surprise me. You were always so politically   
correct, the perfect Starfleet officer. There are still people in HQ who think   
of the Maquis as criminals. Not everyone, of course, but enough wearing four   
or more pips to make a good noise. (Ah. That's an Andorian idiom. Make of it   
what you will). Even those who don't want to punish them criminally don't   
trust them enough to welcome them back into our sacred brotherhood. Some of   
the Maquis who were captured during the War have been granted parole, but on   
the conditions that they do not seek reinstatement to Starfleet or pursue   
government office. A lot of them have returned to their homeworlds to join the   
rebuilding efforts - the peace agreement returned the Maquis worlds to the   
Federation - but some have gone to Andor, where good fighters are always   
appreciated.  
The fate of your Equinox refugees is a little more certain. From what I hear,   
Ransom and his crew violated the Prime Directive, the Seldonis Convention and   
Order 010 and Starfleet cannot sweep that under the floor. The carpet? No   
matter. Whenever Voyager returns to the Alpha Quadrant, they will face some   
formal action, possibly a full court-martial, no matter how exemplary their   
behavior under your command.  
I've got to go; there's a plebe waiting for his appointment; he seems to be   
constitutionally incapable of understanding the causes of the Axanar Conflict   
and thinks I may be able to provide a revelation. He's from someplace called   
Brooklyn and has an amazing ability to speak in colorful and obscure Terran   
idioms. "Tarred with the same brush" I understand (it's almost Andorian in its   
imagery) but "cooking your own goose" seems redundant to me. What else would   
you do with a goose?  
Always your friend,  
Daeja  
*  
Janeway powered down the PADD and placed it carefully on her desk. She stood,   
picked up her rapidly cooling cup of coffee and took a quick sip. "So," she   
thought, as she made her way over to the sofa on the upper level of her ready   
room, "Dae is worried."  
She sat down and settled herself into a comfortable position, turning slightly   
sideways so that she was able to gaze through the portal at the shimmering stars   
slipping by into the velvet black of Delta Quadrant space.  
Daeja Thev was someone whose opinion Kathryn Janeway valued greatly. Dae had   
always been able to see things clearly -- sift through the grit -- she called   
it. They had had some wonderful debates during the year they shared quarters.   
And Kathryn had learned a lot from her. She had written to her in part because   
she knew that Dae kept her ears open (another succinct Andorian phrase); because   
although she still denied it vehemently, Dae Thev was at home and well versed in   
the machinations of the highest echelons of the Federation; and most   
importantly, because she missed her old friend -- her wit, her warmth and her   
canny insights into how to play those political games to which she had referred   
in her letter.  
Janeway had known from the beginning that she would not have an easy time of it   
once she got Voyager and her crew back to the Alpha Quadrant. Although her   
conversations with Star Fleet had been more than cordial since they'd opened   
communications with home, she was well aware of the underlying questions that   
simmered underneath Admiral Paris' and his team's inquiries about life on   
Voyager. There had been one or two pointed inquiries about certain crewmembers   
-- the Equinox Five in particular.  
There was much to think about here.  
Janeway sighed and turned once again to gaze out at the stars.  
  
^*^*^*^*  
"For me?"  
The Doctor couldn't disguise his impatience. He reached out and almost snatched   
at the PADD that Neelix offered him.  
"I've been expecting this for quite a while, Neelix. I have no idea why it's   
taken them so long to respond to my inquiries."  
"Your special project, Doctor?" Neelix asked. "I assume that is what you're   
waiting for? A response to your Holoprogram?"  
The Doctor looked up in irritation.  
"Of course." He responded impatiently. "I expect there will be a bidding war."  
He waved the PADD emphatically and continued.  
"How can they fail to see the value of a program such as mine? Seven years of   
travel through the unknown. Danger. Adventure. Wars. The Borg. Species 8472. So   
many other new species -- humanoid, reptilian, amphibian and of course photonic.   
I can provide those unlucky enough to be stuck in the Alpha Quadrant - those   
with sufficient curiosity and intelligence - with hours of educational   
enjoyment. They can travel with me without leaving their homes. I can guide them   
through the maze that is the Delta Quadrant. Together we can navigate...."  
"I... uh..." Neelix interrupted hastily. "Well, you'll let us know what it says,   
I'm sure."  
"Go away now Neelix. Let me read this in peace."  
*  
  
From: Dr. Lewis Zimmerman   
Director, Holographic Imaging and Programming Center   
Jupiter Station   
Sector 001   
To: Emergency Medical Hologram Mark-I   
Chief Medical Officer, U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656   
Pathfinder Project   
Stardate: 54654.8  
Seven years.  
It's been seven years since you were first activated on Stardate 48308, and in   
all that time you *still* haven't gotten around to selecting a name for   
yourself. Honestly, Mark, this is something you should have done a long time   
ago! 'Doctor' doesn't quite cut it. Any idiot with a degree can call himself a   
doctor these days. You complain that you don't get the respect you deserve,   
and you know what? Being a hologram has nothing to do with it. People are   
basically idiots--give them a name to focus on, and they don't stop to think   
if the being they're addressing is composed of flesh or photons. They'd treat   
a Targhee moonbeast with respect if it had a name that they could pronounce.   
Just bite the bullet and choose something! Hell, you can even use the name   
Zimmerman if you like. I gave you my face, how much more of a presumption can   
it be to use the name too? If you've been waiting for me to bring it up, fine,   
I just did. You're welcome to it. Just as long as you don't do anything   
foolish to disgrace it.  
Speaking of which, Barclay recently told me some garbled story about your   
attempting to get some of your writings published. Naturally I assumed he was   
talking about some of the more interesting aspects of your medical experiences   
in the Delta Quadrant, but no, it turns out he meant holonovels! Honestly,   
every time I think you can't possibly come up with another stupid idea, you go   
ahead and top it. Like the time you got it into your head to be an 'emergency   
command hologram.' Starfleet cadets bust their balls at the Academy for four   
years, then spend another six months in command school, then countless years   
working their way up through the ranks and gaining command experience before   
anyone trusts them with a ship. And you think installing a few algorithms is   
all it takes to equal that? Ha. I'm surprised Captain Jane didn't pull your   
plug for that one, but that woman always did have strange ideas about what   
constitutes good crewmembers. Former terrorists, rebels, Borg and   
murderers--what's one hologram with delusions of grandeur to compare with   
that?  
But getting back to the issue at hand--you, my dear EMH, are programmed with   
information from over 2,000 medical references and the experience of 47   
physicians. Your data base contains more than fifty million gigaquads of data   
comprising the medical knowledge of more than three thousand cultures. And   
writing cheap sensationalist holonovels is how you spend your time? The opera   
at least had some redeeming cultural features! If you're hell-bent on this   
foolishness, I'd at least hope you'd use a pseudonym so you won't embarrass   
yourself later. But considering you haven't even managed to pick *one* name   
yet, I suppose it really is asking too much for you to come up with another   
one for your hobby.  
I'm sending some more journal articles I think you'll be interested in. One in   
particular is for your captain: the cumulative effects of caffeine on   
preganglionic nerve fiber proteins at prolonged exposure to artificial   
gravity. Should give her something to think about. Also the Klingon   
obstetrical exercises you asked for. Friend of mine who used to work at an   
OB/GYN clinic on Qo'noS used to say the most important thing is to remove all   
breakable objects from the delivery room. Including the father.  
Haley and Leonard are both doing fine and Haley sends regards. The LMH project   
hasn't made much progress since the last time you asked--still bogged down in   
bureaucratic red tape. I hear the inside poop is that some of the bigwigs in   
Starfleet Medical need a little more ego-massaging and then things will start   
to happen. I never was any good at those games, but I guess I don't have much   
choice if I don't want this to go the way of the original Mark-I's. If only   
those idiots would just take a good long look at what you've accomplished--how   
you've done the job of a 'real' CMO and then some--but they all claim you're a   
unique case, that it was the extra 'tinkering' that made you what you are   
today.  
Anyway, I'm a busy man. It wouldn't hurt you to write a little more often, you   
know, let me know how things are going. And maybe if your ship can spare you,   
you could always come by for another visit, or a doctor-patient follow-up. Not   
that I need it, understand.  
Take care of yourself,  
L.Z.  
*^*^*^*^  
"Hey Chell."  
Harry sprinted to catch up with the Bolian as he headed towards the turbolift.  
"Have you seen Mike Ayala?" Harry stopped and took a quick breath. "Phew. I'm   
going to have to run some more laps, especially if I want to stay in shape for   
the Olympics."  
"I haven't seen him Mr. Kim." Chell replied. "But that's not surprising. He   
usually disappears on the days datastream comes through. I don't think he's ever   
gotten a letter from home."  
"Well he's got one today." Harry said.  
"You might find him in the holodeck. I know he took the early shift today. He   
mentioned something about going hiking." Chell glanced at his chronometer. "As a   
matter of fact, I think you can probably catch him now if you run." Chell   
grinned at Harry. "I think he said he had it booked starting at 1445. I seem to   
remember he said he'd managed to get an extra fifteen minutes. Won it from   
someone playing poker, I think. It's 1438 now. You might make it."  
"Thanks Chell. I'll get there, no problem."  
*  
TO: Ayala, Michael, Lt. (brevet)/USS Voyager   
VIA: Project Pathfinder   
FROM: Carey, Anne/Cork, Ireland, Earth, Section 001, router #877221   
Stardate: 54649.5  
Dear Lt. Ayala,  
We haven't met, but I feel that I know you from Joe's letters and I hope you   
will think of me as your friend. I'm writing with good news - we've found your   
son Luis, and for the time being he's living with me and my boys here in Cork.  
Ever since I found out what happened to Voyager, I've been working with the   
Federation Relief Agency to see if we can locate any family members of the   
former Maquis in the crew. At first, we thought all of the Maquis and their   
homeworlds had been destroyed by the Jem' Hadar during the Dominion War, but   
since the War ended we've been learning that was not totally true. Some of the   
Maquis managed to find safe havens and are slowly coming out of hiding; some   
of the civilians from the devastated worlds were taken prisoner, and we are   
finding them in work camps within the Cardassian Union.  
That's where we found Luis - in a work camp on Gorshet III. Physically, he's   
in relatively good shape. All of the prisoners were suffering from   
malnutrition and some degree of parasitic infestation, but the physicians   
assure me he can be easily treated and will recover completely. We are more   
concerned about his psychological state. He hasn't said a word since the FRA   
found him, and there is no physical reason for that. Others in the camp knew   
his name, though, and we were able to run a DNA comparison from your old   
Starfleet medical records so there is no doubt he is your son. In addition to   
the aphasia, he's consistently nervous, wary and guarded - which is hardly   
surprising. He either doesn't remember how he came to be in the camp, or he   
still does not trust us enough to say. I'm hoping that with time, he will   
recover and be able to help us find your wife and other son.  
In the meantime, I brought him home to live with me and J.J. and Patrick. The   
boys love having him and I thought that living with other teenagers would be   
good for him. He's a fine boy and, in spite of everything he's been through,   
he remains considerate and thoughtful. (I wish my sons would keep their room   
as clean!) If you have other family elsewhere that you would prefer as   
guardian, please don't hesitate to tell me but truly, he is already beginning   
to feel like family to us.  
I have told him that you are alive and on Voyager, but I don't think he quite   
believes me. Although I'm sure you need no urging, it would be very helpful   
for his state of mind if he heard from you in the next data stream. He's seen   
the letters from Joe that mention you, but there's nothing quite like a   
personal message.  
Please don't give up hope for the rest of your family. We know there are at   
least two more camps in Cardassia that have not been processed and there are   
others in the Gamma Quadrant near the Vorta system. I promise to let you know   
the moment we discover anything.  
I'm so glad I was able to send you good news and I look forward to meeting you   
in person when Voyager finally makes it home.  
Sincerely,  
Anne Carey  
*^*^*^*^  
"Sarexa, can I ask you something?" B'Elanna motioned to the Talaxian woman.   
Torres was still in the mess hall. Tom had left a while ago. He had discovered a   
small discrepancy in one of the Delta Flyer's capacitors and wanted to realign   
the system before he took her out again.  
"Of course B'Elanna. What can I do for you?"  
Torres rubbed at her belly. "The baby is particularly busy today. I've been   
having muscle spasms all morning. Do you have something you could recommend that   
would calm her, and me, down?"  
"I have just the thing for both of you." Sarexa smiled and continued. "It's a   
special blend of Talaxian herbal tea. Neelix and I made up a batch of it last   
week. It's very soothing. I'll go and prepare a pot of it right now. In the   
meantime, just sit back and relax."  
She glanced quickly at the PADD B'Elanna held.  
"Read your letter Lieutenant. I'll be back in a moment with your tea."  
*  
  
To: Torres, B'Elanna, Lt.(brevet)/USS Voyager   
From: Barclay, Reginald, Lt./SFHQ/ProjPath/Earth/San Francisco   
Via: Project Pathfinder   
Stardate: 54662.9  
Dear B'Elanna,  
It works! At least, the temporal chamber works. The best engineers in   
Starfleet have reviewed your design specs and they even built a model, and   
they say it works! In fact, Admiral Chapman says you are a genius. He says he   
always knew you might be and that when Voyager gets home, he expects you to   
take over his class on Practical Application of Warp Dynamics. I asked my   
friend Geordi LaForge to take a look at it, too; he's the best engineer I   
know, and he said the concepts you're using could revolutionize deep space   
travel. Geordi doesn't give praise lightly, so you should feel good about   
that.  
Unfortunately, no one can tell if the system you've designed will work as a   
unit. Starfleet knows very little about Borg transwarp technology and nothing   
at all about the Zornon components you've used. They say it looks like it   
should work and they couldn't find any flaws in your simulations, but the only   
way to know for certain is to try it. I'm attaching the full report.  
If it works, Voyager could be home in a matter of weeks or even days. I hope   
so. I am so looking forward to meeting you, and Tom and Harry and the others.   
My fingers are crossed for you. There's not much room left in this   
transmission, so I have to go.  
Your friend,  
Reg  
*  
"Here you are B'Elanna." Sarexa carefully placed a tray holding a thermal   
teapot, a cup, a teaspoon and a small packet on the table.  
"Do you mind if I...?"  
"Of course not... please sit down."  
Sarexa sat and pulled the tray towards her. She removed the lid from the teapot   
and carefully emptied the contents of the packet into it, picked up the pot with   
both hands and swirled it gently -- blending the tea with the piping hot water.   
She reached down, into the pocket of her voluminous apron and pulled out a small   
container.  
"An extra soother. Honey." She explained.  
She squeezed a dollop of the golden liquid into the cup, poured the now steeped   
tea on top of it and stirred it carefully.  
"Here you are, B'Elanna." Sarexa handed her the cup.  
B'Elanna took a sip. "Perfect." She said. She took another sip and smiled. "This   
is just wonderful. Thank you so much."  
"Good news, I hope?" Sarexa indicated the PADD that Torres had dropped onto the   
table.  
"Oh yes. At least I think so." She paused. "You probably know that I... we've   
been working on integrating Borg transwarp technology with some other components   
to enhance our warp drive. This letter is from Reg Barclay. He said it works, as   
far as they can tell. It works in the simulations we've run, too, but -" She   
paused. "The wrong mix could be disastrous. I just wish I could be more   
confident we've found the right sequence. The last thing I want is a repeat of   
what happened with the slip stream."  
Sarexa hesitantly reached out and touched B'Elanna's hand. "I...might be able to   
help you, you know." She said.  
"You?"  
"I was Borg." Sarexa explained. "We ..." she faltered for a moment. "We acquired   
a huge amount of technical knowledge collectively. At one time I was assigned to   
the engineering section of my cube. I would be glad to have a look at what you   
are doing."  
B'Elanna's grin was as wide as one of the portals in the mess hall. She stood   
up, still holding her teacup. "Come on" she said. "What are we waiting for?   
Let's get going."  
Sarexa nodded and smiled back at the enthusiastic Lieutenant.  
"Yes Ma'am." She replied laughing. She rose, removed her apron and placed it   
over the back of her chair. "I'm coming." But B'Elanna didn't hear her. She was   
already halfway across the room.  
*^*^*^*^  
  
From: Mr. Jameson Whitfield-Wilson-Jones   
Flights of Fancy, Ltd.   
7147 Piccadilly Circus   
London, England, British Isles WK9L54   
To: Captain Kathryn Janeway   
U.S.S. Voyager--NCC-74656   
Router Heading: Durron Communications   
Stardate: 54655.7  
Dear Captain Janeway,  
We recently received a letter from a member of your crew calling himself the   
"Emergency Medical Hologram," submitting a proposal for a holoprogram which we   
would be interested in pursuing. Our legal department advises that we cannot   
proceed further until we know the identity of the author. Under Federation   
copyright law [specifically, Fed. Jur. Code 4532.56.34 (c)], a publisher   
receiving a direct submission from an anonymous author is required to   
ascertain whether or not the individual is currently under an exclusive   
contract with an agency or other publisher. We cannot, through our own failure   
to perform due diligence, be party to an attempt to deprive another of a   
commission or percentage of royalties without exposing our organization to   
liability. Therefore, we will need to know the true name of your crewman and   
whether he or she has a relationship with an agent or any past relationship   
with a different publishing house. A notarized statement will suffice.  
We at Flights of Fancy, Ltd. understand the desire for anonymity. Upon   
confirming that no contractual or other legal impediment exists, your crewman   
may rest assured that any publication will be issued under his or her nom de   
plume, "Emergency Medical Hologram." We would be grateful if you could pass   
this information on to the appropriate person and ask that they contact us   
again.  
Mr. Jameson Whitfield-Wilson-Jones  
VP Marketing and Sales  
Flights of Fancy, Ltd.  
^*^*^*^*  
Chakotay was in his office preparing the latest set of crew evaluations for the   
captain when the door chimed.  
"Come in."  
The door opened to admit Neelix and the Talaxian flashed him a friendly smile as   
he walked over to stand in front of him. "Good afternoon, Commander. Am I   
interrupting anything?"  
"Nothing that won't keep for a few minutes," Chakotay assured him. "What's on   
your mind?"  
"I came to give you this," Neelix answered, and handed him a small PADD. "It   
came through in the latest data stream."  
The XO accepted the PADD and glanced at it for a moment before breaking into a   
smile. "I was hoping this would come through," he said.  
"Good news, I trust?"  
"It's a letter from my sister."  
"Well, I'll leave you to read it in private," Neelix replied. "I have several   
more letters to deliver, and I'm sure the other recipients are just as eager as   
you are to get theirs."  
"Thanks for bringing this by, Neelix."  
"My pleasure, Commander."  
Bidding Chakotay farewell, the Talaxian exited his quarters. Setting aside his   
work for the moment, Chakotay crossed over to the replicator and ordered a   
refill of his spice tea before walking over to his couch and settling himself   
down to read Maya's letter.  
*  
  
From: Maya Lupes   
CMO Dorvan Medical Center   
Router Heading: Sector 047; Dorvan V Colony   
276478341   
To: Chakotay, First Officer, U.S.S. VoyageR NCC-74656   
Stardate: 54663.2  
Dearest Chakotay --  
Apologies for taking so long to respond to your letter. A trade ship full of   
injured Benecians arrived unexpectedly and my staff and I spent several weeks   
restoring them to full health. It seems they attempted to establish mining   
rights on a small moon in the Orias sector that is rich with corebalt ore, but   
unfortunately discovered the hard way it already had been claimed by an   
especially volatile group of Nausicaans. Needless to say the Nausicaans were   
quite unhappy at the unwanted intrusion and their anger manifested itself into   
violence against the Benecians. I haven't seen so much brutality deliberately   
inflicted on another sentient beings since the Cardassians attacked Dorvan V   
all those years ago. Needless to say it resurrected some unpleasant memories.  
But enough about that. I cannot tell you how surprised I was when I received   
your letter and learned that you were once again serving Starfleet. Terven had   
mentioned that Voyager was a Starfleet vessel, but the implications of that   
did not seem to sink in until I read it in your own words. When you resigned   
your commission to join the Maquis, I was certain that you would never again   
wear the uniform. Yet under the circumstances I suppose you had little choice;   
transferred against your will to the other side of the galaxy by an alien   
creature and forced to destroy your ship to save Voyager. Truth be told, I   
found that most surprising of all. Because the Chakotay I remember was an   
angry, bitter man who would sooner have left a Starfleet vessel to the mercy   
of its attackers than risk his own life and ship to aid them. During our time   
with the Maquis, your resentment for all of the things Starfleet represented   
was the fire that fueled your hatred. It was your fear  
of their retaliation that prompted you to forbid me from joining your crew on   
the Freedom. Yet perhaps with age comes wisdom, and time has doused the flames   
of anger. I am pleased that your heart led you to make the right choice.  
The descriptions you provided of your friends and crewmates were very   
interesting; quite a unique group you have there. A former Borg drone is now a   
member of the crew? And B'Elanna Torres is Chief Engineer and married to the   
son of an Admiral? Last time I saw her, she would have been more likely to   
feed a Starfleet officer his fingers for lunch than fall in love with one. Of   
course, the Terrans are fond of saying that opposites attract, and on some   
level my own marriage is proof of that. When I first met Esteban, I thought he   
was an arrogant, selfish man who cared less for his patients than he did for   
himself. Yet as time passed and I was granted glimpses of the man beneath the   
facade, I saw someone I could share my life with. He is intelligent,   
passionate, warm, and funny. And he loves me with an intensity that I have   
never known. His devotion to me is matched only by his dedication to our   
cause; the efforts to rebuild Dorvan V would not be as successful if we had   
not been fortunate enough to have encountered Esteban. We hope to start a   
family someday, as we both long for children to pass along our heritage to.   
But for now our focus must be the work we are doing, until the Spirits show us   
that the time is right to start the next generation.  
I must admit that I am most curious about your captain, Kathryn Janeway. I can   
only imagine the burden she carries as the sole Starfleet commander in an   
unknown region of space so far from the world she knows. She is fortunate to   
have you by her side to support her and steady her as you make your journey   
home. It is obvious from your letter that you care for her a great deal, so   
she must be a remarkable woman to have earned the affections of the most   
honorable man I know. I only hope she is willing and/or able to reciprocate   
your feelings. You love as deeply as you hate, and with such a thin line   
between the two, I fear you may be setting yourself up for a fall. It has ever   
been your nature to think with your heart instead of your brain, and I would   
not want to see you hurt.  
Be safe, Big Brother; I love you and will ask the Spirits to keep watch over   
you and those you care for until we are together again.  
  
Maya  
  
*^*^*^*  
"Naomi?"  
Samantha Wildman entered their quarters and looked around.  
"Hi Mom. Aren't you supposed to be on duty with the Doctor this afternoon?"   
Naomi's head popped up over the top of the easy chair where she had obviously   
been curled up.  
"I've got another ten minutes before I have to report in." Samantha walked over   
to her daughter and planted a quick kiss on the top of her head. "What are you   
reading?" She asked as she peered over her daughter's shoulder.  
"The Captain loaned this to me." Naomi responded. She held out an ancient   
looking volume for her mother to inspect. "She saw me reading one of B'Elanna's   
Klingon Blood novels yesterday and she went back to her quarters and brought me   
this."  
"Little Women" Samantha read. "By Louisa May Alcott. You know sweetheart, I read   
this when I was just about your age. And my mother did the exact same thing. She   
gave it to me to in its original format. It's a wonderful book. Are you enjoying   
it?"  
"I really am Mom. More than I thought I would, especially considering was   
written almost five centuries ago. But it's interesting, isn't it. How that   
family survived without their Dad. And I really like reading it in this format   
too."  
"Well if you don't mind a short break from the March family, I have something   
else for you to read." Samantha handed Naomi a PADD. I think you'll enjoy this   
almost as much as your book."  
Naomi switched on the PADD and looked at the header. "Oh yes!" She exclaimed,   
and began - once again - to read.  
*  
  
TO: Wildman, Naomi, Cadet /USS Voyager   
VIA: Project Pathfinder   
FROM: Greskendrtregk, Ktaria VII, router #724726   
Stardate: 54674.7  
My Dearest Naomi,  
I cannot begin to tell you how proud I am to be addressing this letter to   
Cadet Wildman. Your mother sent a short message at the end of the last   
datastream transmission telling me that you had passed your entrance exams and   
that you have achieved Distant Learner status at Star Fleet Academy. And on   
your first attempt too! Can you keep a secret Naomi? I had to try twice before   
I got in. I don't even know if your Mother knows that! I believe you are the   
youngest cadet ever to have been accepted into the program. You are a credit   
to your mother, your teachers, your shipmates and to yourself. I am extremely   
proud of you, my daughter.  
In your last transmission you mentioned that you had switched from assisting   
the Borg, Seven of Nine, in Astrometrics, to working with the Doctor and your   
friend Icheb in your ship's Sickbay. Are you enjoying that Naomi? Have you   
discovered in yourself a bent for the sciences? Your great uncle (my father's   
brother) is one of the foremost biochemists on Ktaria VII. Perhaps you will   
follow in his distinguished path.  
Your mother also told me of your active participation in Voyager's recent   
annual emergency procedures drill, again with your friend Icheb. I would so   
like to hear of your experiences during the program. I have participated in   
several of those exercises and found each one to be of great value.  
Your letters and descriptions of your world on board the Starship Voyager give   
me a tantalizing glimpse of your life. You describe your special friendships   
-- with the Talaxian Neelix and with the Borg Seven of Nine. You must miss her   
now that she has gone to be with her own kind once again. You speak of the   
Doctor, Lieutenants Paris and Kim, and of your Captain - who sounds like a   
brave and wise leader (you do well to emulate her) with such fondness and   
detail that I almost feel I know them myself.  
But you speak most often, and most fondly of Icheb. I would like to know more   
of him. Your mother has expressed some apprehension regarding your   
relationship. She tells me he is a serious young man - that he too was once   
Borg - and that he has recently had some contact with them again. She also   
tells me that he has participated in some dubious activities over the past   
months. She is concerned that you and he spend too much time together. You are   
young in years my child, but maturing quickly in the manner of a true daughter   
of Ktaria. I know that your mother has made great efforts to instill in you   
the knowledge of our culture and traditions. She has no doubt told you that we   
of Ktaria mate for life. So I would ask you, Naomi, to step carefully towards   
your future. For once you have made your decision, it will be -- it must be --   
irreversible.  
At this time I am visiting with your grandparents on our homeworld. It is the   
47th anniversary of their Joining and our entire family has assembled in their   
honor. Your uncles and aunts and many cousins are enjoying this time together.   
Tomorrow we plan a family expedition to the ski slopes of Malarn. But our   
reunion is bittersweet. Bitter because you and your mother are not here to   
celebrate with us. But sweet because we know that you are with us in spirit,   
and will with any luck be here with us in actuality in the not too distant   
future.  
I look forward to hearing more from you in the next transmission. Your letters   
bring me such joy, my daughter. To have found your mother again after having   
lost her was a gift beyond imagining. To have found you was a miracle.  
My love to you both.  
Father  
  
*^*^*^*^  
"Delaney to Delaney." Megan grinned as she paged her sister.  
"Delaney here." Megan heard the suppressed laughter in Jenny's reply. Even after   
all this time the two of them found it amusing when they hailed each other in   
this fashion.  
"What's up Sis?"  
"Are you busy?"  
"I'm supposed to be on the bridge in fifteen minutes, but if you need me..."  
Can you come to astrometrics, there's something here I think you'll want to   
see."  
"Sure. On my way."  
"Delaney out." Megan grinned again and de-activated her comm badge. She turned   
back to her console and removed a filled PADD from the download slot, placed it   
in the appropriate pile, and inserted another blank one. Harry and Neelix would   
be back shortly for their next batch of deliveries and she wanted everything to   
be ready for them. Over the months that the crew had been exchanging   
communications with the Alpha Quadrant and Harry and Neelix had been delivering   
the mail, they had established an efficient routine. Rather than wait for all   
the letters to be retrieved, the self-styled Mail Men picked up between eight   
and ten pieces at a time and distributed them as quickly as they could. They had   
found on mail day that most of the crew became understandably impatient if there   
were any delays. By the time they had delivered their first batches, the next   
ones were downloaded and ready to be handed out.  
She had retrieved four more messages by the time her sister arrived, slightly   
out of breath and still buttoning up her jacket.  
"Late again Sis?" Megan asked, not even looking up from her console.  
"I wasn't supposed to be on the bridge until 1600 hours. I was on time until you   
called me, Meg." Jenny replied.  
Megan turned around and picked up a PADD that she had set aside.  
"Here." She said. "I even resisted the temptation to read it before you got   
here. It's from Robbie."  
Jenny activated the PADD.  
"Oh boy." She said. "We haven't heard from him in ages!"  
"Can you read it aloud Jen? Then I can keep going with these things."  
"Sure."  
*  
TO: Jennie and Megan Delaney, USS Voyager   
VIA: Project Pathfinder   
FROM: Delaney, Robert/Palo Alto, Earth, Section 001, router #108992   
Stardate: 54683.2  
Hey there,  
I know, I know, it's about time your little brother finally wrote again. And   
this time, I can't tell you that it was lost in the datastream.  
I'm in the process of finishing my phD dissertation, finally. Dr. Moller is   
ecstatic. If nothing else goes wrong, I'll be graduating this summer. Dr.   
Robert Delaney. It does have a nice ring to it. Mom wants to send out the   
announcements now. I'll send you a copy of my dissertation, if you want? "The   
Tetra-synchronous modality of gaseous flux in class V binary stars." Megan   
might be interested.  
A group of the Voyager families are planning a picnic next month. I'm thinking   
I might actually go this time. Mom has gone to almost every one. Since hearing   
both of you were alive, she has become an even more active participant in the   
Voyager Families Association. It's not an official group, Starfleet brass   
usually ignore us. Except Admiral Paris. An interesting man. He keeps us   
informed on your trip--when he can.  
Mom and I were delighted to hear both of you survived your most recent run-in   
with the Borg. Are the rumors true? Did you really beat them so soundly they   
will not be a problem for many years to come?  
But so many lost. You have my deepest sympathies. And best wishes.  
The rumors are flying that you may be home by summer. Just my luck, you may   
upstage me again.  
With love,  
Robbie  
  
*  
"That was so..." Jenny paused for a moment.  
"It was so Robbie." Megan finished for her. "Can you believe that our little   
brother is going to be a 'phud'. He always used to tease me about my 'quest for   
eddication'. And now look at him."  
"I think we'll have to do a little teasing of our own in our next letter home."   
Jenny said. She glanced down at the chronometer on her wrist. "I've got to go   
Meg. Do you mind keeping the PADD for now? I don't have any pockets, and I'm   
already late for my shift."  
"Sure, no problem." Her sister replied. "Go on. I'll see you later."  
"I'm gone!" Jenny replied and headed toward the door.  
Megan turned back to her console and began the next download procedure.  
  
^*^*^*^*  
"Good afternoon, Icheb. Hope I'm not interrupting your studies," Neelix said   
brightly as he entered Cargo Bay 2.  
Icheb looked up from the console where he was working. "I am permitted to take   
'a break,' as Lieutenant Paris calls it. My report concerning human-Vulcan   
relationships prior to the formation of the Federation is almost complete. I   
will be sending it to Commander Tuvok shortly."  
"Ah. That explains why you weren't in Astrometrics earlier today when the   
letters started coming in from the Alpha Quadrant."  
The hint of smile that had been on Icheb's face vanished. "I anticipated they   
would arrive today."  
"Did you? Everyone else lost track! You know, there was a letter for you this   
month."  
"A letter? Are you certain it's for me?" Icheb's astonishment was evident. Since   
the only letter Icheb had ever received from the datastream previously had been   
his official letter of acceptance to the Academy, this reaction was not a   
surprise to Neelix.  
"Absolutely Icheb." Neelix replied smiling. "This one's definitely got your name   
on it. Here, see for yourself."  
Neelix activated the PADD and handed it to the young man.  
He watched him as Icheb turned it on and read it, tickled at the way the shocked   
expression suffusing the young man's face nudged away any trace of Borg   
impassivity. When Icheb placed the PADD back on the console without comment   
about the letter, however, Neelix couldn't help himself. "Who is the letter   
from?"  
"Don't you know? Naomi says you always do," Icheb said, a small smile appeared   
on his lips, making him look even less Borg than before.  
"Well, I . . . uh, I have to check which letter is which, you know, and   
sometimes I can't help but see the entire heading, you see . . ."  
"Neelix, it's all right. You can read it if you like. It's from Admiral Paris."  
"Well, I knew that, actually . . . " Neelix admitted sheepishly, accepting the   
PADD from Icheb and perching himself on the cot Icheb often used, now that he   
rarely regenerated and needed more sleep.  
As much as Neelix enjoyed mail day, he found it a bit tiring. Rushing around the   
ship, trying to deliver everyone's mail in a timely fashion was harder than he   
would admit. And he'd had a particularly active morning. He was, to use one of   
Tom Paris' favorite twentieth century idioms, 'pooped'. Settling himself into a   
reasonably comfortable position, Neelix began to read.  
*  
From: Admiral Owen Paris, Starfleet Command   
APO San Francisco. Earth   
To: Cadet Icheb, U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656   
Stardate: 54682.4  
Dear Cadet Icheb,  
Congratulations upon the completion of your first semester's work in Starfleet   
Academy's "distant learner" program. It's quite a challenge for anyone to work   
on basic course work so far from home. To make the Dean's List under these   
circumstances is remarkable. I remember Commander Tuvok well from his days as   
an instructor at Starfleet Academy. He always grades his students fairly,   
adhering strictly to Academy standards; I know you earned those high marks.   
You have achieved much in the short time you have been on Voyager.  
One other thing about completing on your studies out in deep space: you are   
gaining a wealth of practical experience the average Academy student can only   
dream about. The normal cadet's short training missions, invaluable as they   
are, can in no way compare to your time on Voyager. Captain Janeway is one of   
our finest captains and can teach you much about command that cannot be   
learned in formal classes. Serving with her is certain to enhance your   
credentials for a successful career.  
If you have any questions at all about your Academy course work or anything   
connected with Starfleet itself, feel free to contact me at Starfleet Command.   
I will be following your progress with great interest. Good luck in all your   
future endeavors.  
Sincerely,  
Owen Paris, Admiral, Starfleet Command  
*  
By the time he had finished reading Neelix was beaming.  
"This is wonderful, Icheb! Admiral Paris taking an interest in your   
career--that's quite a friend to have in a high place! Looks like you'll have a   
lot to look forward to when we get to the Alpha Quadrant."  
"Perhaps," Icheb replied as Neelix returned the PADD to him. As Neelix began to   
leave, however, Icheb stopped him, asking, "Neelix, did Naomi receive a letter,   
too?"  
"Yes, she did. From her father." Neelix added, in a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm   
sure she'll tell you all about it over dinner."  
After Neelix had gone, Icheb turned back to work on his report for a few more   
minutes, then hit "pause" on his console.  
Reactivating the PADD, Icheb reread its contents, virtually committing them to   
memory. Tonight, he'd have a letter of his own to discuss in the mess hall.  
  
^*^*^*^*  
To: Kim, Harry, Lt. (j.g.)/USS Voyager   
From: Patel, Sunil/San Francisco Public Library/Earth/San Francisco   
Via: Project Pathfinder   
Stardate: 54651.6  
Dear LIEUTENANT HARRY KIM:  
Our records indicate that you failed to return "THE TIME MACHINE" by H.G.   
WELLS on its due date of JANUARY 31, 2371. Please be aware that the San   
Francisco Public Library charges a late fee of 0.75 credits per day for each   
day a book is not returned following its due date. Your current late charge is   
ONE THOUSAND, TWO EIGHT HUNDRED FORTY-ONE POINT FIVE (1,841.50) CREDITS.  
This late charge will continue to accumulate until such time as the book is   
returned to the Library. We urge you to do so at your first opportunity. Books   
are a valuable asset to the community and it harms us all when one is withheld   
from circulation, even though an oversight. Thank you for your cooperation.  
Sincerely,   
Sunil Patel   
Asst. Head Librarian,   
Circulation Division  
^*^*^*^*  
Chakotay stared at the PADD, astounded that Starfleet had even authorized the   
transmission of...  
Of what? Drivel? There was only a limited amount of space and he hated to think   
that someone's legitimate letter hadn't been sent because of this...  
Drivel.  
"Commander?" He glanced up.  
"Good morning, B'Elanna." He smiled at her, the letters briefly forgotten. "How   
are the final preparations for connecting the transwarp coil going?  
"They're coming along. Still a few glitches, but Icheb thinks we'll be ready on   
time. And I agree with him." She motioned toward the PADD asshe sat down across   
from him. "I see Harry has been making the rounds."  
"A letter from my sister and some other..."  
She smiled at him. "Maya is a remarkable young woman."  
"Yes, she is. She has done remarkable work on Dorvan."  
"I look forward to seeing her again. Who else wrote you?" B'Elanna leaned   
forward, so he moved the PADD just enough to prevent her from seeing it.  
"Nobody."  
"Nobody sent you a letter?"  
"That is correct...Perhaps we should ask Starfleet to put restrictions on mail   
not from authorized personnel."  
"Why?" She reached for the PADD. He reluctantly let her have it. She read for   
just over one second then pushed it back to him with a laugh. "I think this one   
deserves a response."  
"I'd rather ignore the letter completely. It's embarassing."  
"You're famous. She sounds like quite a woman."  
"I am not going to marry her, no matter what her attributes are."  
B'Elanna closed her eyes and laughed. Chakotay shook his head, but she was   
right. The whole situation was absurd enough to be funny. "Read the third page."  
"Three pages?" She glanced down and started to read. "I knew it was love the   
moment I saw your face on the news. So strong, so handsome..." She thrust the   
PADD back toward him. "It's personal."  
He hit the delete button. "I hope her husband doesn't find out." He laughed at   
the look on B'Elannas face. "That's why I suggested page three."  
"I'll mention it to Reg. The datastream was full again this time." She stood.   
"Anyway it wouldn't have worked. She's not your type." B'Elanna nodded to her   
right.  
"B'Elanna..." Kathryn was walking their way.  
"What? Come on Chakotay. We all know who you have your heart set on. I'll see   
you at the staff briefing. Good morning, Captain." B'Elanna continued to chuckle   
as she left.  
"Captain," Chakotay said as Kathryn sat down where B'Elanna had been sitting.  
"What did B'Elanna find so funny?"  
"Nothing." No way would he tell her.  
"Just one of those pregnancy things?"  
"I guess so." He took a sip of marok tea. He always found it hard to lie to her.   
She stared at her cup of coffee. "Is there a problem?" He wondered if she'd   
received bad news from home.  
"No...I'll be in my ready-room." He watched as she walked away. Something was   
wrong. He wondered just what her mail had brought.  
*^*^*^*^  
Tom walked into their quarters at seventeen ten hours to find his wife already   
there. She was sitting on the couch, staring out the window, and she didn't   
immediately acknowledge him. He walked by the bed, flicking one of the little   
ships on the mobile over the baby's cradle as he passed, making it spin lightly   
on its axis. When he looked at B'Elanna again, she was watching him with a faint   
smile on her face.  
"You do that every time you walk in the door," she said, shaking her head.  
Okay, so he was predictable. He shrugged and grinned as he plopped down on the   
couch next to her. "You're here early. Everything okay?"  
"Uh huh." B'Elanna looked at the PADD in his hand. "Letter?"  
Tom nodded. "From my mother." He started to hand the PADD to her when he noticed   
another one on the couch next to her.  
B'Elanna saw the direction of his gaze. "I got two letters this month."  
"Really? Let me guess. Barclay..."--that one Tom was sure of since B'Elanna and   
Barclay had been exchanging letters every month, most recently about her   
project--"...and K'Nar?" he guessed. Her uncle had written several times now,   
apparently determined to keep B'Elanna apprised of her Klingon family's   
activities.  
"It's from my cousin Elizabeth."  
Tom set his PADD aside. They'd get to his mother's letter later. "What did she   
say?"  
B'Elanna shrugged. "I haven't read it yet. I figured I'd wait until I got home."  
"Good idea," Tom said. "It's hard to concentrate with all the activity in   
Engineering."  
B'Elanna made no move to pick up her PADD. "I'm not sure I want to do this."  
Tom knew she wasn't talking about just reading the letter. "B'Elanna, you   
answered her last letter," he reminded her gently. Elizabeth had written two   
months earlier, a brief letter expressing happiness that B'Elanna was doing   
well, and the hope that they could get to know each other again. B'Elanna had   
answered that letter last month, in a polite, almost terse manner, indicating   
neither eagerness at Elizabeth's overture to renew their relationship nor   
refusing it. Tom knew B'Elanna was skittish about reconnecting with either side   
of her family after all the years of separation and bitterness, but he was also   
sure she wanted those connections, even if she was hesitant to completely trust   
the intentions behind them. "You might as well read it. You can always decide   
later if you want to respond."  
B'Elanna picked up the PADD and offered it to him. "You read it."  
After a moment Tom nodded and took the PADD. He forwarded to Elizabeth's letter,   
noticing that it contained a lot more data bits than her last letter. He pulled   
up the text and began to read.  
"To B'Elanna Torres, USS Voyager, Delta quadrant, from   
Elizabeth Torres Steinbach, Geneva, Switzerland, Earth,   
routing...yada, yada.  
"Dear B'Elanna...  
"Thank you for answering my letter. You didn't say much, but I realize that my   
first letter to you was very sketchy also. At least we got that awkward first   
step out of the way, so this time I'm going to jump right in and get personal.   
After all, we're family, even if events we couldn't control when we were   
children kept us out of contact for so long. I'm anxious to catch up on   
everything we've missed, and to know my cousin again. Though not as anxious as   
my daughter is to know you.  
"I told you that Jack and I have two children. Our son Jarrett is eight. Our   
daughter, Isabel, who is named after our grandmother in another name   
variation, is six. We usually call her Izzy. She can't wait to meet you when   
you get home from the Delta quadrant. I suppose you know that you've become   
pretty famous here. Every school child is learning about the discoveries   
Voyager's crew has made in the Delta quadrant, and the new races you've   
encountered. You are all fast becoming living legends, but to Izzy you are the   
real legend, because you're her cousin. She's decided she wants to an engineer   
when she grows up. I can't promise that will hold, since I recall wanting to   
be an anthropologist, a ballerina, and a doctor when I was her age, before I   
realized I was most gifted with numbers. But she's pretty insistent right now,   
thanks to your exploits. I'd certainly be proud for her to follow in your   
footsteps.  
"In your letter, you said you hoped my family was well. I know you added that   
out of politeness, but since you mentioned it, I'll take it as an invitation   
to reacquaint you with the rest of my family--and yours. My youngest brother,   
Michael (you know, the one who was so picky he wouldn't eat anything but hot   
dogs or peanut butter sandwiches on that camping trip) runs a restaurant on   
Risa specializing in Terran Mediterranean and Asian cuisine. Turns out he's a   
great cook (whereas I can barely get boiled water out of a replicator), and   
he's very good with people. He's already got a table reserved for you and Tom   
when you get home.  
"I'm sure you also remember my middle brother, Carl. I know his pranks upset   
you once, but he never meant to be mean. He was an annoying brat as a kid, but   
he did grow up eventually. Really. In fact he joined Starfleet. He majored in   
medicine and psychology at the Academy. Can you believe that? He married a   
very nice woman, and they had a beautiful little boy. Shortly after he   
finished his leave for the baby's birth he accepted a post as ship's counselor   
on the USS Einstein. Two months later the Einstein was lost with all hands at   
the Battle of Betazed. We were all grief- stricken, but we weren't the only   
ones to suffer. So many were lost during the Dominion War that there's barely   
a person in the Federation who wasn't affected. I know many on Voyager have   
lost family and friends too, especially those who knew some of the Maquis   
massacred by the Cardassians.  
"You must have lost some friends too, B'Elanna, and I'm sorry. I'm a citizen   
of the Federation, but I thought from the beginning that the Maquis got a raw   
deal when their homes were sacrificed for the treaty, one the Cardassians   
never intended to honor anyway. That's how most people felt about it, and   
still do--at least the average citizen.  
"I tried to get in contact with you once, years ago. I was going to MIT, and   
my mom told me you were attending Starfleet Academy. When I called there, I   
was told you'd resigned from the Academy a week earlier. A few months later I   
found out you had joined the Maquis, and I knew there was no way to reach you   
then. I figured you'd found a cause you believed in, and I hoped you would be   
okay. I also admired your resolve, though in retrospect, I'm glad you ended up   
in the Delta quadrant with Voyager. That's selfish of me, and I realize in   
some ways it must have been hard for you to know that your life took such a   
fortuitous turn when so many other lives didn't, but I'm still glad, B'Elanna.   
I hope you are too.  
"Anyway, my parents still live in the same house in Santa Fe. We'll be there   
for Thanksgiving dinner in a couple of weeks. I think you recall those since   
you were there for the annual gorging a couple of times. I always had a   
bellyache by the end of the day. Some things never change! My parents asked me   
to send you their best, B'Elanna. They remember you fondly, and they're very   
happy to know that you are doing so well. My mother in particular was really   
upset when Uncle John decided to leave you permanently with your mother   
because he thought it would be better not to 'mess up' your life by pulling   
you between two different worlds. My dad kept his silence, out of brotherly   
loyalty I guess, but my mom gave Uncle John hell for being so utterly   
spineless (her words). And if Grandma Isabella had still been alive...  
"Well, she wasn't. And the rest of us...I can use the excuse that I was just a   
child too, but even then I knew it wasn't right. We shouldn't have let Uncle   
John make a decision for all of us, but you were so far away, on Kessik, and   
later Qo'noS. I guess we felt we had little choice. Even so, I want you to   
know that we never stopped thinking of you as one of our family, B'Elanna.   
Never.  
"I've mentioned him a couple of times now, so I guess there's no point in   
evading the subject. I can't imagine how you feel about your father, though   
I'm sure it's nothing positive. I can't blame you. I do love Uncle John, but I   
never understood how he could just forget about you. Or pretend to forget   
about you. He didn't cut you out of his life to get back at Miral, or because   
he didn't care about you. As I've gotten older I've come to realize that he   
simply took the easy way out. Uncle John isn't good at confrontations. Aunt   
Miral would never have kept you from him if he'd pressed for his rights.  
"I'm not absolving Uncle John of his actions in any way. I don't know if you   
can forgive him for the past, but I do know that he never stopped loving you.   
Like I said, he just pretended to forget about you, and he didn't do a very   
good job of it. He always kept track of you. He knew when you entered the   
Academy, and when you joined the Maquis. How do you think my mom kept me   
informed? After we heard Voyager and a Maquis ship had disappeared, and your   
presence on the Maquis ship was finally confirmed, Uncle John was devastated.   
By that point several months had passed, and it was assumed that everyone on   
both ships had perished, including you.  
"Oddly, that event brought your mother and father together, briefly. They   
talked for the first time in almost fifteen years, and they both grieved for   
you. Three years later, when Starfleet received the message that Voyager was   
in the Delta quadrant, and you were listed among the survivors, they both   
rejoiced.  
"I saw Miral then, at that announcement meeting for Voyager families when   
Starfleet shared your EMH's message with all of us. She looked strong and   
beautiful. Seeing her made me think of you, and the woman you must have   
become. She forgave your father, B'Elanna. Oh, she was harsh with him, but he   
was still your father, and her husband once. She loved you too much to regret   
anything in her past--in their past together--and was far too happy knowing   
you were alive and well to hold a grudge. I don't know if that is a comfort to   
you--that after all these years they both forgot their differences and thought   
of you first--but I hope it is.  
"I think your father is going to write you, B'Elanna. In fact, I encouraged   
him to do it. I hope you aren't too angry with me. He wants to know you again,   
and to make up for all the years he's thrown away. I know a lot of time has   
passed, and probably a lot of pain, and if you reject his overture I'll   
understand. Though nothing can erase the past, I do hope you can forgive him   
and give him another chance.  
"This letter is already long, but I thought this once I could get away with   
it. I hope you'll write back, B'Elanna, and tell me about your life on   
Voyager. I'd love to hear what it's like to being a chief engineer (Izzy is   
also anxious to know!), what it's like to travel through unknown--and, from   
your ship's logs, dangerous--territory, and what it's like to live on one ship   
for so long. After seven years you must all be like a family now--lots of   
squabbles but plenty of mutual support when things get tough. And I really   
want to hear all about this husband of yours. Voyager's chief pilot, huh? Tom   
Paris must be a lot more than your typical flyboy if he's managed to make   
himself worthy of you. (Yeah, I've heard about his past. Old news.) Please   
tell Tom (if he's not already reading this with you) that we appreciate   
everything his father has done to keep the Voyager families informed and   
involved. The man has been a rock for all of us.  
"Also, congratulations to both of you regarding the coming baby. I've been   
through it twice, so if you have any questions, I'd be happy to answer them. I   
can tell you that my two children are my greatest achievement. Even if raising   
a child sometimes seems like a scary proposition (especially with the Dominion   
War here, and who knows what on your journey), you won't have any regrets, I   
promise you. "Please do write back, if not for me, then for a six year old   
little girl who idolizes you. (Sorry, I know that's not fair play, but what's   
a little manipulation between family).  
"Take care, B'Elanna, and come home safely.  
"Love, your cousin, Elizabeth."  
B'Elanna hadn't spoken at all while Tom read the letter, though their eyes had   
met several times, and he'd seen her expression change at a couple of points.   
He'd avoided his natural instinct to insert witty commentary as he read, knowing   
B'Elanna wouldn't appreciate it at that moment.  
"Nice letter," Tom offered quietly.  
B'Elanna frowned, her tense posture signaling her agitation. "Why did she have   
to bring *him* up?"  
"She'd have to eventually, B'Elanna. Maybe she figured better sooner than   
later--"  
"I don't care what she says! He hasn't tried to contact me for twenty years, and   
*now* I'm supposed to believe he's cared about me all this time? He's a p'taQ!"  
Tom smiled faintly. "Yeah. But he's also your father."  
B'Elanna shook her head. "He doesn't care about me, Tom. He doesn't even know   
me! Elizabeth is wrong. He's not going to write me, and I'm certainly not going   
to write him!"  
Tom was pretty sure her father would write. He hoped so anyway, even though he   
felt his own measure of resentment against John Torres for what he'd done to his   
daughter. But John Torres was also the one person who could undo some of that   
damage. Tom put his hand over his wife's fisted one. "We can worry about that if   
and when he writes. But, B'Elanna..."  
B'Elanna looked at Tom when he paused, her expression still glowering. "What?"  
Tom glanced around deliberately, then gave her a crooked grin. "Just making sure   
there's nothing too heavy you can throw at me when I tell you what I have to   
say."  
"Tom--"  
B'Elanna tried to jerk her hand from his, and he jerked back, not about to be   
swayed. "I don't doubt Elizabeth's words, B'Elanna, and neither do you. Your   
father kept track of you all these years. He didn't just forget about you. He   
didn't stop loving you, anymore than your mother did. Your uncle K'Nar has   
welcomed you into your mother's family as if you'd never been gone, Elizabeth is   
anticipating a long, renewed relationship, and Michael is holding a table for us   
at his restaurant." He squeezed her hands. "B'Elanna, you came to the Delta   
quadrant thinking you had no family left, that none of them really cared   
anymore. Believe me, I had the same sentiment about my family once. But it looks   
like we've both been proved wrong. It's a good feeling, isn't it?"  
B'Elanna stared at him for several moments, her anger slipping, replaced by   
bemusement. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe."  
Tom smiled at her grudging acknowledgment. "I really look forward to meeting   
Elizabeth. She seems like a nice person."  
B'Elanna nodded. "She was always nice to me. I suppose I was too busy being   
defensive to notice, or to appreciate it."  
"Kids are sometimes like that, but they grow up. Look at Carl."  
B'Elanna looked somber. "I guess he did change a lot."  
"Adults can change too."  
B'Elanna's sharp gaze told Tom she was aware of the reference to her father. Tom   
also knew she needed time to get used to the idea of contact with her father   
again after so many years. There would be time to deal with that later. He   
decided a change of subject was in order.  
"My mom wrote me a letter this month. Want to read it?"  
"Sure." Grunting with the effort needed to reach the PADD he was holding out to   
her, thanks to the vigorous kicking going on in her bulky midsection, B'Elanna   
accepted the letter and began to read it silently.  
"You could read it aloud, B'Elanna." She glanced up at him. He had such a   
wistful expression on his face, she obliged him:  
"Dear Tom,  
How are you doing, dear? And how is B'Elanna doing? Is she getting big? Is she   
still "mellowed out," as you so beautifully put it, or is she getting to that   
final stage of pregnancy where a woman snarls at everything and just wants it   
all to be over?  
"Make sure she knows it's the same way with humans--only the "mellow stage"   
sometimes never shows up at all. It didn't when I was carrying you. You kicked   
me too much, especially at night."  
B'Elanna paused, grinning ruefully at her husband, rubbing her stomach from a   
particularly sharp assault from within. "No denying this baby is yours, Tom.   
Like father, like daughter," she remarked. Tom was still chuckling when she   
continued:  
"Your father said you were a real Paris, making your presence known. I wasn't   
about to argue with him! I agreed wholeheartedly! And you weren't much   
different after you were born, I must say!  
I do so wish I could see how big B'Elanna is getting in person. Could you send   
a holosnapshot of the two of you next time? It doesn't have to be at high   
resolution. Your father can get the image enhanced easily. I'd really love to   
have an informal one of you both for our "family gallery."  
But, enough about pregnancy. I probably should write to B'Elanna next time and   
chat with her about it, rather than bore you to death. I just hope everything   
is going well for both of you.  
Everyone here is doing well. Kathleen and Moira and their families all send   
their love. Your Uncle Charlie had to have surgery on his knee, and Aunt Mary   
had a touch of Antarean Fever last month, but both are doing just fine now.   
Your cousin Lucille's oldest boy Travis--little Travis is sixteen, can you   
believe it?--just received his invitation to attend Starfleet Academy in the   
fall. He wants to be a pilot- -of course! It's the "Paris Tradition," he says.   
And from the way he dashes around in his parent's aircar, I'd say he's well on   
his way to following in your footsteps. At least it hasn't landed in Lake   
Tahoe yet. (And no, I'm never going to forget, so just get used to hearing me   
mention it.)  
Do you have any idea how pleased your father was when he received your letter   
last month? I know he'd never breathe a word of this to you, but he made three   
back-up copies of it and printed out a hard copy to save, just to make sure it   
wouldn't be lost. That's three copies I know about. I have no idea if he has   
others at the office. I wouldn't bet against it--if I were a betting sort of   
person, that is. I only made two copies for myself--just kidding. Still, I was   
so happy you sent it. Your father understood completely the month we didn't   
hear from you, when you sent your message to your friend from Auckland, but he   
was disappointed. This letter made up for it completely.  
You'd barely recognize your father lately, you know. His work on the   
Pathfinder Project was all that kept him sane, once he realized you were   
alive. I don't want to say he's a different man, because that's not precisely   
true. He's always let me see this side of himself. This is the Owen Paris I   
fell in love with. Why he always felt compelled to hide it from everyone else,   
though, even from his children, I'll never know, but he's not hiding it any   
more. After going through the hell of losing you, and then discovering you   
weren't lost after all, no one has any doubt about how much he loves you or   
your sisters. He's become much more demonstrative with them. He's always   
talking about B'Elanna, too, and how brilliant she is. And his grandchild! Not   
that he doesn't love his other grandchildren, but this one is going to have   
the name Paris. You can imagine how proud he is of that! He can't decide if   
she's going to be the most brilliant pilot Starfleet has ever known or the   
greatest engineer.  
(You aren't going to give the baby only the Torres name, are you? Or one of   
those hyphen things? Your father is so set on having another Paris in the   
family--but, of course, it's none of my business, really. It's up to you and   
B'Elanna. Just let me know if you aren't going to have Paris in the baby's   
name so I can prepare him, before it's official, OK?)  
Anyway, after he'd read your letter the first dozen times or so, he sat down   
and wrote the letter to young Icheb you requested. He was glad to do it. Once   
you all get back home, I'd like to invite Icheb whenever we have our family   
gatherings. I'm sure he's smart and "good Academy material," as your father   
told me, but, as you said, he also needs to have a family he can turn to. How   
lonely it must be  
for him, after what happened with his parents!  
I hope you realize, dear, that even when you and your family were farthest   
apart, we loved you and desperately wanted what was best for you. Maybe your   
father was a little too desperate about it sometimes and didn't know the right   
way to show it. But never think that this young man Icheb is "the son he   
always wanted." You were that, Tom. Always!  
Say hello to Captain Janeway for me, by the way. Her sister Phoebe is coming   
to lunch next week, as a matter of fact. And give B'Elanna a kiss from all of   
us. I can barely wait to be able to give you one in person! Hurry home soon!  
Love,  
Mom  
  
After finishing Tom's letter, B'Elanna was silent for a few seconds, digesting   
what she'd just read. Finally, she said, "I'm glad your parents are taking an   
interest in Icheb. He always seemed so lost on 'Letter Day,' since he never had   
anyone to write him."  
"This is just the beginning. He'll have pen pals galore, once Mom gets people   
mobilized."  
"Your mother must be a very nice person, Tom."  
"Mom's great."  
"You miss her a lot?"  
"I do. You're going to love her, B'Elanna."  
"I don't get it. How come you're always talking about your father but never say   
anything about her?"  
"Human nature, I guess. With Mom I don't have anything to complain about."  
"It sounds like your father is 'mellowing' a little, himself."  
Tom shrugged his shoulders diffidently, but B'Elanna wasn't fooled. The picture   
of Tom's father formed as a result of Mrs. Paris' letter made Captain Janeway's   
admiration for him easier to accept. Owen Paris was obviously a lot more   
complicated--and more loving a parent--than Tom's stories about him had led her   
to expect.  
"When you write your mother back, tell her that any baby who kicks up as much of   
a fuss as this one deserves the name Paris!"  
"Will do," Tom laughed. "Hey, what did Barclay have to say about your project?"  
B'Elanna's eyes brightened, as they always did when she spoke of her project.   
"He thinks it will work. So does Geordi LaForge."  
Tom knew LaForge was chief engineer on Starfleet's flagship, the Enterprise.   
"I'm not surprised. My wife is an engineering genius after all, not to mention a   
role model."  
B'Elanna snorted. "To a six year old."  
"Probably thousands of them now that we've become 'legends.' "  
"What about you, Tom? I seem to recall Starfleet is considering incorporating   
some of your Delta Flyer design specs into the next class of shuttles. I'm sure   
lots of those school kids want to be 'Tom Paris, Starfleet Pilot' when they grow   
up."  
"What a lucky kid we're going to have with us for parents," Tom said, grinning   
immodestly.  
B'Elanna laughed. "You're right. But right now, our daughter is hungry, and so   
is her mother."  
"Dinner in the Mess hall tonight?" Tom asked. On what had become known popularly   
as "Letter Day," almost everyone showed up in the Mess hall for the evening   
meal, eager to share and hear news from home. It was always good to see so many   
happy faces.  
B'Elanna nodded. "Okay."  
When she started to rise, Tom grasped her elbow lightly. The first few times   
he'd done that she'd brushed his hand away. Now her belly was getting bigger and   
it took a little extra effort for her to get on her feet from a sitting   
position, so she'd silently acquiesced to his support.  
"What do you think Harry's parents had to say to him this time?" Tom asked as   
they headed for the door.  
B'Elanna smiled. "It's a toss between 'When is that nice captain of yours going   
to make you a lieutenant commander?' and 'Do you have a girlfriend yet?'."  
"I'll take the second."  
"Okay, I'll take the first. If I win, you give me a back rub."  
Tom nodded. "And if I win?"  
"Then you give me a back rub."  
Tom grinned at her sly look. "That sounds like a deal," he said, as they exited   
their quarters together.  
^*^*^*^*^  
The stars streamed by the mess hall viewport, but the attractive blonde staring   
in their direction didn't seem to be aware of them to the slightest degree.   
Harry cleared his throat conspicuously several times to warn her of his   
approach, but he had almost walked into her chair before she looked up at him   
with a start.  
"Oh! Harry! You surprised me."  
"I think your mind is in the Alpha Quadrant already, Marla, even if the rest of   
you is still on the way there."  
Although she smiled, it seemed a bit sad to Harry. "I'm not the only one   
tonight, I don't think."  
Taking a seat across the table from her, Harry asked, "Your family is okay, I   
hope. I know you got a letter . . ."  
"Everyone at home is fine, Harry. No, it's just me getting a little melancholy.   
I get this way whenever Letter Day comes. So many never made it far enough to   
get any letters. And my nephew was a little boy when I last saw him, and now   
he's sprouting up like a weed. Not as fast as Naomi, maybe, but he'll be a young   
man before I get home. He's growing up without me."  
"Maybe not. With the new drive, we might be home faster than you think."  
After a short pause Marla said, "You could be right." She was smiling a little   
more cheerfully now, but still not as much as Harry would have liked to see.   
"Did your parents write to you?"  
"Sure did. Mom would never miss a chance to . . . I mean, she always writes me."  
"Of course. She's proud of you, and you deserve it."  
A shadow crossed her face then, and Harry impulsively reached out to pat her on   
the hand. He wasn't quite sure how it happened that he ended up holding it   
instead, but he didn't exactly mind. It may have been her touch that inspired   
him to say, "Can I interest you in an ice cream soda for two?"  
She hesitated slightly again before nodding, "Sure, Harry. I'd love to." She   
picked up the PADD lying on the table, cradling it gently in her arms as they   
went to the replicator to get their soda.  
*  
From: Kaylyn Richardson  
Seattle, Washington BR North America, Earth, Sector 001   
To: Crewman Marla Gilmore, U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656   
Stardate: 54656.7  
Dear Marla,  
What can I say, Sis? Maybe I should slip in a little small talk before   
responding to the bombshell that was your last letter, but where could I   
begin? So, I'm just going to get to the point.  
I'm glad you're finally being honest with us. I must say, I was getting very   
worried about how silent Starfleet has been about the Equinox survivors. I   
knew something had to be very wrong, but I was so happy to know you were alive   
when we'd been told you had been lost, I was able to push my concerns aside.   
Now that you've told us the truth, I understand the mixed messages we've been   
getting from the brass.  
I'd like to tell you your fears were groundless about your future, but I have   
to agree with your assessment of the situation. I'm inclined to think they   
won't be willing to ignore what happened, either. They may be staying quiet so   
they don't ruin all the good press Voyager has been getting. Or maybe so there   
won't be any claims of a tainted jury if they decide upon a court martial. I'm   
afraid you're right. It's the most likely explanation for the stonewalling   
I've been getting. And now I know the real reason you stopped being an ensign.   
I couldn't understand why coming onto another ship would make any difference   
in your rank. I'm glad Captain Janeway was smart enough to reinstate you as an   
ensign, "official rank" or not!  
Marla, we know you. There's no way you would have done the things you did on   
the Equinox if you hadn't been ordered to do it. Don't make excuses for your   
officers. I'm glad that Captain Ransom did what he did to save you at the end,   
but even if your crew had to find a place to live in the Delta Quadrant, it   
would have been better than putting you through the hell he did on that   
journey. And now he's safely dead, while the five of you will have to face the   
music. I'll never forgive him for that. And that XO of yours--the less said   
about him, the better!  
We're glad you're okay and on the way home to us. We long to see you again,   
but we can be patient, knowing we'll see you again someday. The journey home   
will be a long one, though, so don't be afraid to live a little along the way.   
Harry Kim sounds like a very nice young man (and yes, you're right. I knew all   
about him from the newsvids long before you wrote me). I met his parents at   
the last Voyager gathering, you know. They were very interested in talking to   
Mom and Dad and me. I have a hunch they may have had a letter talking about   
you from a certain someone, you know? I don't think you need to spend a lot of   
time worrying about how becoming involved with you will affect Harry's career.   
After all, you have lots of time-- twenty years, at least, until you get home,   
right? Lots could change before then. Have faith.  
We miss you, Marla, and we love you. We will stand by you no matter what   
happens. Just take care of yourself! We'll face tomorrow when it comes.  
Love always,  
Kaylyn  
^*^*^*^*  
She'd been saving this one for last. Something to look forward to at the end of   
a long Delata Quadrant afternoon. The letter from Daeja Thev had been unsettling   
to say the least, and had stayed with her long after she had finished reading   
it. Dae had raised issues that were going to have to be addressed sooner rather   
than later, especially if B'Elanna was successful with her warp core project.   
She knew she would have to face them. Perhaps she'd discuss some of it with   
Chakotay after dinner.  
The letter from Mr. hyphen hyphen Smith Jones or whatever his name was, had been   
annoying. She was going to have to respond to it, and she was going to have to   
deal with the Doctor and his constant quest for fame and fortune. And of course   
the issue of his sentience, rights and privileges was going to rear its head   
once again. She sighed. Ah well, in the general scheme of things it was a minor   
irritation, she supposed, and she would deal with it. Tomorrow.  
Janeway picked up the PADD that had been lying temptingly within reach on the   
corner of her desk all afternoon and headed out of her ready room. It was almost   
dinner time and tonight, as they did each "Letter Day" the crew would congregate   
in the mess hall, gathered together in camaraderie and hope - those who had not   
received any communication from home looking to share some of the stories, news   
and general warmth generated by those who had. She wasn't sure how or why the   
tradition had started, but she was glad that it had and always made sure that   
she spent a good portion of the evening mingling with her crew.  
Tonight, as she had hoped, she was a bit early. The afternoon shift was not   
quite over, and except for Harry Kim and Marla Gilmore in the far corner of the   
room, the mess hall was deserted. Even Neelix was nowhere in evidence. She made   
her way over to a replicator on the far side of the room.  
"Coffee, Janeway blend nine." she instructed the machine.  
"No. Belay that order." Janeway paused for a moment and then smiled to herself.  
"Make that a hot chocolate. Swiss blend. With marshmallows."  
The replicator activated itself and within seconds a large mug appeared.  
Janeway picked it up and carried it, along with the PADD to an easy chair under   
one of the wide portals that dominated the room. She settled herself down, took   
a deeply satisfying sip of her chocolate, activated her PADD, and began to read.  
*  
From: Mrs. Gretchen Janeway   
Indiana, Terra 1123647 Sector 001   
To: Captain Kathryn Janeway, commanding officer   
U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656 Stardate: 54678.6  
Dearest Kathryn,  
How are you doing, darling? I hope you've been well since your last letter.   
Speaking of which, Kathryn, before I forget, I'd like to tell you that there   
is no need for you to gloss over your recent activities, or attempt to   
sugar-coat them in some way. Obviously, I don't expect you to go into full   
detail in your messages home, giving tactical data from battles or other   
classified information, but at the same time you shouldn't feel that you have   
to protect me by omitting important events. I know as well as anyone (maybe   
better than most civilians) what a career in Starfleet entails. And that's   
under normal circumstances. Twenty five thousand light years from the Alpha   
Quadrant, the risks are even greater. I accept that; I'm not going to tell   
you, however, that I *don't* worry about you. Of course I do. In a way, it's   
even worse the second time around--having given you up for dead once, I'm   
understandably not eager to lose you a second time. But as before, not knowing   
what's going on is much worse. You don't need to shelter me, Kathryn. At any   
rate, it's an exercise in futility as Owen, God bless him, has been keeping me   
fully apprised (well, as much as possible within the limits of security) of   
what's been going on aboard Voyager.  
I can't even begin to tell you how frightened I was when I heard about your   
latest confrontation with the Borg. Despite the recent Dominion War, and the   
devastation it caused, the word 'Borg' more than any other strikes fear in the   
heart of the average Federation citizen. Death is one thing, but the thought   
of assimilation is far, far worse. If I understand the reports correctly, it   
appears you and your wonderful crew have gone a long way toward neutralizing   
that threat. Permanently. But what it must have cost you...  
Anyway, on to more cheerful topics. Phoebe and family were just here for a   
long weekend. Kathy is a constant joy and pleasure, but she has the energy of   
an unrestrained warp core. I'm not as young as I used to be, and keeping up   
with my three year old granddaughter is not easy. To compound matters, I told   
her parents to go off and take some time for themselves. So the last day of   
their visit, Kathy and I spent a very enjoyable morning at the pool at the   
community center, then did some baking in the afternoon. (She shares the   
family affinity for caramel brownies, so this was a necessary activity.) I   
think she had a good time. I know I did, and as of this writing, most of the   
surfaces in the kitchen and living room are no longer sticky.  
Work is going along as usual. My latest project is taking up huge chunks of my   
time, more than I'd expected when I was first approached by the Rockefeller   
Institute a few months ago. Most likely it's because this is the first time in   
a long while that I'm involved in a collaboration, not a solo effort. Dick   
Braxton, the nominal head of the project, is one of the leading lights in the   
field, but the man's ego would fill a ten story office building. I think the   
rest of us spend as much time soothing his ruffled feathers as we do charting   
the direction of research and compiling data. Then again, I'm sure I haven't   
exactly endeared the Janeway name to him, either. We've had our share of   
run-ins from day one; although I try to pick my battles, some clashes are   
still inevitable. I'm still very enthusiastic, but I think I'll be happy to   
get back to my regular duties as chairman of the department of biostatistics   
at the University on a full-time basis.  
In your last letter you asked for some local news. Not much has been   
happening, sorry. The big story making the rounds recently is that Old Man   
Peterson is getting married again. Before you ask, yes, he's in his late 90's   
(at least), and this will be wedding number seven. I think. It's hard to keep   
track, especially considering that neither of his last two marriages lasted   
much longer than the Federation-Cardassian Alliance. No word about his   
intended, other than a rumor that she's from off-world. Oh, I ran into Adele   
Johnson the other day and she told me Mark and his wife were planning on   
coming for Thanksgiving. They're living in San Francisco, as Mark is still   
with the Questor Group, and they have a lovely little boy. I think he's around   
two years old now. Adele also asked how you're doing (as if monthly Voyager   
updates weren't a regular feature on the news broadcasts, but I suspect she   
was interested in news of a more personal nature) and sends her warmest   
regards to you.  
Speaking of reminders from the past, there was one other thing I wanted to   
bring up. Kathryn, I was a little surprised by your reaction to the news that   
I'm thinking of selling the cabin up by Lake George. No, financial   
considerations have nothing to do with it. The main reason is that it's been   
years since any of us have been up there for an extended period. I just don't   
have the time these days, it seems, and Phoebe never had quite your interest   
in sailing. Maybe when Kathy's a bit older, but in the meantime the only   
people who have been getting any use out of the old place have been some of   
the more distantly related cousins, in particular Martha's granddaughter   
Barbara. She and her family have regularly gone to the lake for a few weeks   
each summer over the past few years, so when she asked me about transferring   
the title, I thought it was a good idea. It would still be in the family, and   
therefore we'd probably still be able to use it whenever we wished. But if you   
feel *that* strongly about it, Kathryn, then by all means I'll tell Barbara   
no.  
This is getting a bit lengthy, so I'll end by saying that I miss you, dear,   
and I hope that all is going well for you. And I pray that you will be home so   
you can visit 'your' cabin in person very soon. Owen hinted that between the   
Pathfinder scientists, and your talented chief engineer, this may become a   
reality and not just remain a dream. I certainly hope so.  
Take care of yourself, Kathryn.  
Love,  
Mom  
*  
It was a thoroughly satisfying letter and well worth the wait. She was pleased   
that her mother was willing to reconsider letting go of the cabin. And she could   
just picture her and her niece loose in the kitchen. She smiled at the thought.  
"Good news, Kathryn?" Chakotay settled into the chair beside her.  
"Just home news, Chakotay," she replied. "My mother writes such wonderful   
letters." She turned to face him. "And I still want to know what was so funny   
about your letter." She grinned as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I   
have my ways of finding out about these things." She said. "And you know I don't   
like secrets!"  
"Tom, B'Elanna!" Chakotay jumped up in relief. "Did you hear from Reg?"  
"I did." B'Elanna answered. "And it's looking good. And Chakotay, I need you to   
make a change in the duty roster..." They moved off towards the center of the   
mess hall, B'Elanna gesturing enthusiastically as they went.  
More and more crewmembers, senior staff as well as below decks personnel were   
flowing into the room. Neelix was in his element, serving drinks, dinner, snacks   
and special orders. He had co-opted several extra helpers for the evening,   
including Naomi and Icheb, both of whom carried out their duties with pride and   
efficiency.  
Kathryn Janeway watched with satisfaction as her crew met and mingled. They were   
indeed a family, she thought. They had been to hell and were on their way back   
-- together. The letters from home that they had received today were a bonus   
that she knew just added to their resolve and strengthened their determination -   
another step on their long trek across the Delta Quadrant towards home.  
  
*^*^*^*^  
Addendum: Robbie Delaney, Fan letter scene (Christina); Mr. Jameson   
Whitfield-Wilson-Jones (Christina, Penny); Gretchen Janeway, T'Pel, Dr.   
Zimmerman (Rocky); Mrs. Paris, Admiral Paris, Kaylyn Richardson (Jamelia),   
Chakotay (Andra Marie); Elizabeth Torres Steinbach, Reg Barclay (Juli17); Daeja   
Thev, Anne Carey*, Sunil Patel (Penny); Mrs. Kim, Greskendrtregk (CyberMum).  
* Anne Carey appears courtesy of monkee.  
  
Coming Next: Countdown by Christina and Sara. With all systems ready, it's time   
for Voyager to go home! 


End file.
